


heavy with the weight of missing you, my dear

by alongwayfromhome



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, i dont know, im awful at this, its literally just a fluffy mess because I have so many FEELINGS, maybe some angsty feelings in the beginning too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alongwayfromhome/pseuds/alongwayfromhome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He took in Harry's sleeping body beside him. Warm. He went three and a half months without Harry and now he had him back, warm like his own personal furnace heating the entire bed. He took in three and a half months worth of change, because this was Harry and he wanted to know everything, map him out and draw his fingers over the new tattoos and curl his body around Harry until he knew every inch of his skin again like the back of his hand.</p><p>or: Nick thinks he needs something solid, but then Harry comes home and it turns out all Nick needs is him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heavy with the weight of missing you, my dear

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the influx of Gryles that has happened over the past few days for this. I'm sorry (no I'm not, not at all.) Enjoy! xo
> 
> Title comes from Rare by Man Overboard.

Nick spent his birthday without _his_ pop star by his side, and really it didn’t surprise him. He knew that was going to happen. He and Harry had the discussion before Harry had even left for tour, and it was fucking terrible, but they knew logistically, it was impossible. Harry would be in LA and making it from LA to Ibiza with time to spare just wasn’t going to happen, not with the extra shows and press and studio time and the Teen Choice Awards. It was a fact, an undeniable one, and it was just something they had to get over.

Or Nick did. He had to get over the fact that he had to spend his birthday without the one person he wanted there most. But it was fine, really. He didn’t _care._

They talked about it— _them_ —before Harry left for Europe, because the idea of trying to have—a relationship? A fuck buddy?—whatever they were while one of them was touring the bloody world not only wasn’t ideal but it wasn’t practical. “We’re not bloody Zayn or Louis,” Nick had reminded Harry, which was the best way he could put it. It was different when you were in a committed relationship with someone the whole world knew about. You could fly home at a moments notice for the day, and you could have your significant other out on the road with you.

Nick sometimes liked to torture himself with the thought of everyone in the bloody world’s face if he showed up to tag along on One Direction’s tour for a few days. It often ended with him chugging a bottle of wine, but honestly, technicalities. Wine was good. Sue him.

He was doing it for Harry too, though, of course. Harry was 19 years old and an international pop star. He’d be touring the world, seeing a new place every night, and he’d have hundreds of people throwing themselves at him. Nick trusted him—honestly, more than he trusted himself, but that was another issue entirely—but he wanted Harry to enjoy himself. He wanted Harry to have _fun_ , not worry about the radio DJ almost ten years his junior across the ocean.

And if Nick didn’t entirely trust himself, well… all right. So be it.

So they talked, and agreed to cool things off for a few months. “It’s only a few months,” Nick had joked so he didn’t lose it completely. He was a bleeding adult, for Christ’s sake! He could certainly handle not having Harry fucking Styles around for a few months. He’d done just fine for almost 27 years, thank you very much.

(He wasn’t fine, was the problem, and not having Harry around was fucking _awful_ but he managed. Or something.)

It’s just—the tour was a lot longer than expected, and the months passed much slower than Nick ever thought possible. He kept himself pretty fucking busy, and it still wasn’t enough. He’d still go home at night and have to fall asleep alone, and maybe it shouldn’t have bothered him but it _did_.

He didn’t know what part of him decided pulling away from Harry would be a good idea, but that’s exactly what he did. It was easy when Harry went to the states, because time zones and busy schedules got in the way of any and all free time. It wasn’t that he wanted to push Harry out of his life completely, because he didn’t.

Nick just needed something real, something solid. He needed someone who was there. He didn’t want to punish Harry for his lifestyle, but… he needed someone, and Harry couldn’t be that someone, not from an entire continent away.

Enter Nicco. Nicco was great. Nicco was real and solid and _amazing._ Nicco was _hot_ , a bloody model for Christ’s sake, and his accent was enough to _do things_ to Nick.

Nicco was good, plain and simple.

(Nicco was also the Perfect Distraction, as Aimee kept referring to him, but Nick ignored that. Mostly. He wasn’t trying to distract himself, he was just trying to live his life, and if that meant getting involved with a fucking Italian model, then so be it.)

They weren’t serious, not really. Nicco wasn’t even strictly based out of London, so it was hard to put any kind of label on themselves, but it was still the most solid thing Nick had up until that point. He ignored how sad that sounded, and just focused on how good it was. _Nicco_ was good.

Nicco was good, until he wasn’t.

Or rather, the situation wasn’t. It wasn’t Nicco’s fault Nick was sort of completely and totally fucked over Harry.

Nick got the text from Harry the day he was set to head back to London. Nicco was going to fly back to London with him, and then from London he’d head back to New York, where he had a job.

_Coming home. Want to see you. Xxx_

It was nothing much, but it held the weight of the fucking world.

Nick waited until they were back in Heathrow to tell Nicco, because it took him the whole flight to figure out what he was going to say. He ended up settling on “Harry’s coming home.”

Which was apparently enough, because Nicco just smiled and nodded. “Knew he would be soon.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, because he was. Nicco was solid. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Nicco just shrugged. “Hard to compete with the person you’re actually completely gone for.” There was no harshness to his words, just honesty. “It’s all right, Nick. Call me if you’re ever in Venice and you’ve completely given up on Harry.” He winks, hugs Nick, and then he’s off.

It was, in all honestly, probably the weirdest goodbye he ever had, and yet it made him feel like things were okay. He just smiled as he walked out of the airport, got into a taxi, and pulled out his mobile.

**When should I expect you, Pop Star? xx**

Nick didn’t even get to see the reply, because when he got back to his, he walked through the door, collapsed on the couch, and immediately passed out. Jet lag - 1, Nick - 0. 

~

“Will you come open the door already? Christ. Someone’s going to see me out here.”

Nick was only half away, and he was fairly certain even that was an overstatement. He frowned and pulled his mobile away from his face, checking the time. Half eleven. Huh. He’d slept a solid 5 hours. “It’s half eleven,” he said when he brought the phone back to his mouth. “It’s half eleven, and _apparently_ , there is a disgruntled pop star on my door step.”

Harry huffed. “Will you get off your lazy arse and let me in already before I break in myself?”

“Don’t you have a bloody key?” Nick muttered, hauling himself off the couch and ambling towards the door. “Honestly, I specifically remember giving you a key _for this reason._ ”

“Piss off and _open the—“_

Nick pulled the door open before Harry could finish, hanging up and smirking as he pocketed his mobile.

“Door,” Harry finished lamely. The frown on his face was immediately replaced with a smile.

Nick didn’t even get to say “Hi Pop Star.” Harry just stepped inside, crowding Nick’s space while he closed the door behind him.

And then he kissed him.

“Fuck, missed you,” Harry mumbled, the words getting lost against Nick’s lips. Nick could only groan in response, but what he was thinking?

_Missed you too, so much, needed you more than I needed something solid, don’t leave, **stay.**_

He didn’t say any of that, though, because there was a jet lagged pop star crowding his space and pushing him against the wall by the door. Because of course. His life, and whatnot.

There was an electric charge between them that was almost impossible to ignore, and as much as Nick would have liked to strip him down and blow him right there in the hallway—or vice versa, judging by the impatience behind Harry’s fingertips—he knew there was no way that was going to happen. Not then. Not yet.

But he was going to enjoy the kissing for as long as he could handle it, because he was only human, thank you very much.

When they finally pulled apart, Harry just sort of rested his forehead in the crook of Nick’s neck, arms wrapped lazily around Nick for all he was worth. They were both breathing heavily but not saying a word. Nick was pretty sure they said everything already anyways, so it didn’t matter.

“I didn’t even bloody ask you about Nicco,” Harry said finally when he pulled away. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was frowning and it was like the hallway snog hadn’t even happened.

Nick sighed. “Well Harold, Nicco is on a plane to New York City as we speak. Or maybe he’s there. I don’t know. Suppose that’s a long bloody flight, yeah? I mean, crossing the ocean and—“

“ _Nick._ ”

Nick sighed and pushed Harry back a little. “Yes?”

“Nicco’s… gone?”

He shrugged. “Left this morning, right after I told him you were coming home.”

Nick wanted to laugh at the way Harry’s jaw dropped a bit, and then laugh harder at how fast his mood turned around. Disgruntled toddler to pleased pop star in five seconds flat. “You all right there, Pop Star?”

“He’s gone,” he repeated.

Nick shrugged because he didn’t know what else to do.

“Fuck Nick, “ he breathed, raking his fingers through his hair, but he was smiling.

Nick rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too. He didn’t even bother saying anything, just wrapped his fingers around Harry’s wrist and pulled him towards his bedroom. It wasn’t okay, not yet, but it would be.

~

When Nick woke up, it was just shy of noon, meaning he’d slept for 17 hours total. Fucking jet lag.

He turned onto his side and stared at Harry laying next to him. He was still dead to the world. Almost four months had passed since Nick had seen him last and now he was laying in Nick’s bed. He was sleeping in Nick’s bed. He was curled up right next to Nick.

_Real. Solid._

He took in Harry’s sleeping body beside him. Warm. He went three and a half months without Harry and now he had him back, warm like his own personal furnace heating the entire bed. He took in three and a half months worth of change, because this was Harry and he wanted to know everything, map him out and draw his fingers over the new tattoos and curl his body around Harry until he knew every inch of his skin again like the back of his hand.

He had dark circles under his eyes, which would have bothered Nick more if he didn’t look so peaceful. Jet lag, Nick figured. Or an international tour in which he was getting pulled in eight hundred different directions with obligations. He was probably just exhausted, and rightfully so.

Surprisingly, Harry only had one new tattoo, the small black cross on his hand. Nick didn’t even go there; he’d seen the tattoo in pictures, but seeing it in person was different. His stomach flipped around and he resisted the urge to not reach his own thumb out to trace it over Harry’s hand.

His hair was a mess, and Nick wanted to touch that too. He wanted to rake his fingers through it, massage Harry’s scalp until he was practically on the verge of purring. He wanted to make Harry comfortable, content, happy, because that was exactly how he felt with Harry laying beside him.

He was fucking _tan_ too, which seemed unnatural on his English skin, but worked to his advantage. He’d filled out more, too, which Nick blamed on the band’s personal trainer. He’d always been fit, but this was different. Everywhere Nick’s eyes fell, Harry’s muscles were more defined than they had been just months before.

It wasn’t fair, really, just how well he was living up to the _solid_ definition, Nick thought to himself.

Nick’s fingers were itching to just _touch_ , and he let himself because he couldn’t handle it anymore. He reached his arm out and brushed his fingers over Harry’s shoulders, ghosted down his spine, rubbed against his back dimples he could easily see thanks to the sheet that was draped low on his hips. He rubbed his thumb in circles against Harry’s skin until finally he felt Harry stir beneath him.

Harry released a low groan before his eyelids opened slowly. Nick smirked. “Morning, Pop Star. Or should I say afternoon?”

Harry groaned again. “What time is it?”

“Oh, about noon.”

“Fuck.”

Nick laughed. “Jet lag caught up to you, I see.”

“Fuck off,” Harry muttered, but it was half-hearted because he was smiling around it. He turned his body so he was laying on his side facing Nick, and Nick wrapped his arm around him tighter so he could pull them closer.

They laid like that for awhile, not saying anything and not doing anything, just soaking it up.

“You’re home,” Nick said finally, his voice quiet.

“I am.”

“And you’re here.”

Harry smiled wider. “I am.”

“And… do we know what that means? Because it’s sort of been a whirlwind the past few hours and I’m not sure I’m following.”

Harry chuckled. “I’m not sure what it means, to be honest. Weren’t you with Nicco, like, yesterday?”

“I was never _with_ Nicco, Pop Star. Impossible to do when you exist.” Harry was quiet, and when Nick turned his head he knew why. He was frowning. Disgruntled toddler once again. Nick sighed. “What?”

“So it’s my fault?”

Nick rolled his eyes. “No, it’s mine for thinking I could ever move on when you exist.”

Harry smiled. “Good.”

Nick raised one of his eyebrows. “Good?”

Harry nodded. “Good. Because if I came home and you’d moved on without me, it would have really fucking sucked.”

Nick barked out a laugh. “That so, then?”

Harry just smiled. “So you’re not with Nicco, and I’m certainly not with anyone, and we’re both here.”

Nick hummed and fell onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “How long for, though?”

“Few days,” Harry sighed. “Then we’re heading back to the states for some press. Then… Australia, I guess.”

Right. Because Harry was an international pop star and Nick was a bloody idiot. He stayed quiet, because he felt like he was having deja vu. He really didn’t want to have the same conversation they had before Europe again. Once was enough.

“But then I’m home," Harry continued, filling the heavy silence that had enveloped them. "End of October and I’m home for awhile. Probably some press for the new album, but still… no more tour. Not until next year.”

Harry sounded so hopeful, like he knew exactly what Nick was thinking. Nick sighed. “It’s never going to get easier.”

“Nick, come on, don’t do this again, I can’t—“

Nick shook his head and turned back onto his side. “I don’t mean the you leaving bit, although that too. I just mean… us. Being apart. It’s never going to get easier.”

Harry frowned. “No, probably not.”

“But you know what else won’t get easier? Pretending like not trying will be better than giving it a chance.”

There was a brief pause, and then Harry was smiling. “Yeah?”

“I can’t quit you, Pop Star. I tried, thought it’d be for the best, but I can’t do it. You weigh me down with how much I miss you, yeah? But I’d rather miss you than not have you at all.”

Harry barely let him finish his mini-speech before he was curling his body around Nick and kissing him like his life depended on it. He licked into Nick’s mouth, dug his fingers into Nick’s skin wherever he could touch, and acted like he wanted to swallow Nick whole.

Nick knew the feeling.

“Thought you needed something solid,” Harry breathed heavily when he finally pulled away.

“Thought I did too, Pop Star. Thought I did too. Turns out all I need is you.”


End file.
